Disclaimer: I do not own Being Human. It belongs to Toby Whithouse.
Author's Note: This story is AU. Mitchell is not a vampire. George is not a werewolf. Annie is very much alive. I'm new to the fandom, so I'm a bit nervous about posting this. I know there are some fandoms where AUs are not readily accepted.
The Land of the Living
Chapter 1
John Mitchell trundled down the sterile hospital hallway pushing his mop and bucket. Another day, another puddle of vomit or pile of crap; in this case it was a puddle of urine just outside of the bathroom door. He lifted the dripping mop from the bucket, squeezed out the excess water, and expertly rid the floor of the yellow stain. He placed a caution sign over the wet circle he left behind and moved on toward the emergency room down the hall where some bloke had launched projectile vomit all over a doctor, the bed, and the floor. It was going to be a long night.
Mitchell, he'd dropped the John years ago because of the bad memories the name dredged up, didn't mind the job really. He lived in a decent place with his roommate George, and the job paid the bills. He didn't have to take work home with him. The only thing that got to him sometimes was that the job offered him too much time to think, to dwell on the past and things he'd rather forget.
Great Aunt Tillie, for example, was one of those things best left forgotten. If he concentrated, he could still hear her shouting his name. "Jooohn, get your sorry butt in here and clean this kitchen. It is filthy! Jooohn, don't make me get my strap!" And she'd use it, too. He could easily remember the feel of the sting across his backside when he did something he knew Aunt Tillie would not approve of.
Mitchell shook his head as if to clear it of the memories. Thoughts of Aunt Tillie always led to a deep longing for his parents who had died when he was seven in a car accident. From what he could remember, he'd had a good life with them. Much better than what he'd survived with Aunt Tillie.
Huffing a sigh, he continued toward the ER and the waiting vomit. He passed a young nurse, new to the hospital, and she met his gaze shyly. He tossed a smile back, making a mental note to introduce himself later. The ladies, they all loved him. The thought made him feel a bit smug, but at the same time he had never been able to keep a relationship going. He didn't know how. Since the death of his parents there had been no love in his life. Perhaps he was afraid of being hurt or maybe it was a fear of commitment; Mitchell wasn't sure. He only knew that he was tired of being alone. It wasn't just the idea of being alone. It was a deep, aching loneliness, almost like a hollow pit in his stomach.
Mitchell had found that he could be in a room full of people and still feel lonely. Even at home with George and George's girlfriend Nina, Mitchell always felt like the third wheel. He was haunted by his loneliness; he wanted to break free, but he didn't know how.
"Hey, Mitchell, hurry up! Doctor Slocumbe's in a right state!" the head nurse barked.
Mitchell nodded making his dark curls bounce slightly before he headed in the direction the nurse pointed. The smell hit him before he saw the vomit. It was foul.
"I am so sorry," a voice was saying. He glanced up to find a pretty woman with caramel skin and dark, springy curls looking at him apologetically.
"Owen is just so sick. He couldn't help it." She clutched the hand of a young man who was curled up in fetal position on the bed.
"Annie, why are you apologizing?" the prone form on the bed moaned miserably. "It's his job to clean up other people's messes."
"Owen," Annie interrupted.
The dark-haired patient kept talking. "If he'd earned a college degree like the rest of us, he wouldn't be here, now would he? Then he could have a cushy desk job instead of cleaning up vomit and urine."
Annie stared at Owen incredulously before glancing up to gauge Mitchell's reaction, an apologetic look on her face.
"No worries," Mitchell smiled although he was boiling inside. "I'll have it cleaned up in jiff." He saw Annie visibly relax when he didn't respond to Owen's taunting. This guy was a real piece of work; he could feel his cheeks flushing in anger and he hoped Annie didn't notice.
Mitchell made quick work of the floor and nodded at Annie before rolling his yellow bucket out of Owen's cubicle in the ER.
Next up was a spilled soda in the waiting room. Mitchell was thankful that the night was busy; it made his shift go by faster.
"He just doesn't feel well; that's why he's acting this way," a voice behind him piped up.
Mitchell turned to find the young woman, Annie, standing behind him wringing her hands nervously.
"I am so very sorry for the way Owen acted. He's been so sick that I'm not really sure he knows what he's saying." She tucked a curl behind her ear.
Mitchell found himself smiling at her. "It's all right; I've heard much worse."
Annie offered a small smile in return and fumbled in the pocket of her jeans for some change. "Well, uh, thanks," she nodded. "Have a good night."
"You, too," Mitchell answered, wishing he could think of something else to say to her. "I hope your friend feels better."
"He's actually my fiancé," Annie replied. "And thanks."
Her fiancé. Mitchell had grasped onto the slim chance that perhaps they were only friends. He nodded and turned back to mopping up the soda.
Across the room, Annie studied the soda machine before depositing her money and pushing the correct button. Nothing happened. She pushed the button again, harder this time. Still nothing. Finally, she jabbed it repeatedly with her finger while muttering curses under her breath.
"Here, let me help you," a soft Irish accent lilted over her shoulder.
Annie turned to see the porter, the one who had cleaned up Owen's vomit.
"This machine has a mind of its own really," he smiled before whacking the machine solidly on the side with the palm of his hand. "Push the button again."
She did so, and the machine finally released her soda. "Thanks," Annie grinned, "uhhh…I'm sorry; I don't know your name."
"Mitchell," he smiled.
"It was nice to meet you, Mitchell. I'm Annie." She extended her hand and Mitchell took it.
"It's an honor, Annie, and now I must be off. Loads of vomit and other nasty things to keep me busy tonight." All he really wanted to do was stay and get to know her more, but she had a fiancé. It was best to forget all about the curly-haired woman with the expressive dark eyes and gorgeous smile.
"Goodnight, Mitchell."
The dark-haired porter nodded and pushed his mop bucket through the crowded waiting room. His shift stayed busy after that. He never made it back to the ER. He checked before leaving for home, and Annie and her fiancé were already gone. What would he have said anyway? It's not like he could ask her out or anything. The woman was already engaged.
Mitchell heaved a sigh and headed home. He was exhausted and his stomach rumbled hungrily. Perhaps George and Nina would have breakfast ready when he arrived.
He parked in front of the pink house he shared with his friends and pulled his black leather coat closer around him. The air had a nasty bite to it this morning. Gray clouds scudded angrily overhead and hinted that rain was on the way. Mitchell fumbled in his pocket for his keys and let himself into the house. The smell of coffee permeated the air and helped to chase away the chill that lingered in his bones.
"Hey, Mitchell," George greeted as he hurried past and tugged his jacket on, all the while knocking his glasses askew. He reached up and straightened them before turning back to his friend. "How was your shift?"
"Not bad," Mitchell shrugged.
George's girlfriend, Nina, appeared in the kitchen doorway with her coat on and a bag slung over her shoulder. "Mitchell, I left a plate for you on the stove."
"Thanks, Nina. You're the best," Mitchell grinned, his stomach rumbling at the thought of food.
"We're off then," George called. "See you tonight."
Mitchell made his way into the kitchen as his friends left for work. He poured himself a mug of coffee and eagerly carried the plate Nina had left for him to the table. It didn't take him long to devour the toast, sausage, and eggs. He washed them down with the last swig of his coffee and cleaned up his dishes before heading upstairs to his room. He ignored the mess and shrugged out of his clothes, throwing them in the floor to join the pile of soiled clothing already there. He fell onto bed clothed only in his boxers and immediately dropped off to sleep.
"Hello, Mitchell."
"Annie?" he asked, whirling around in the hospital corridor to face her.
She grinned back at him, all chocolate eyes and curly hair. "It's me," she laughed.
"What are you doing here?" he asked in confusion. "Where's Owen?"
Her face darkened at the mention of her fiancé's name. "Oh, he's around," she shrugged. "Will you help me with the soda machine?" she asked innocently. "It ate my coins."
"Sure," Mitchell responded, amazed that Annie was here and talking to him.
A furious pounding woke Mitchell with a start. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and groggily looked at the clock. It was two in the afternoon.
Groaning, he rolled out of bed and slipped into a pair of jeans he found on the floor before making his way downstairs to the door. When he opened it, no one was there. He heaved a sigh of frustration and stepped out to look up and down the sidewalk. A salesman had moved on to offer goods to the house next door.
A catcall across the street caught his attention. A group of teenage girls, backpacks slung over their shoulders, strutted down the street. "Hey, handsome!" one of them called, blowing him a kiss.
Mitchell glanced down and realized he was bare-chested. Biting back a sigh, he retreated into the house and shut the door, thoughts of Annie invading his mind once again. He told himself it was ridiculous to even think of her. He'd never see her again. Her fiancé was a patient in the hospital where he worked, a job where he cleaned up puke and crap for a living. Annie was definitely too good for him anyway.
Rubbing his face, Mitchell decided he needed more coffee or maybe something stronger if he was going to get Annie off of his mind.
Mitchell couldn't help himself. Vision of the caramel-skinned woman with the chocolate eyes and springy curls popped into his head at the most inopportune moments. He had dreamed about her a few times and even thought he'd seen her at the hospital once or twice. This wasn't healthy, was it, to be so obsessed with a woman he hardly knew?
When he saw her at the hospital a few days later, he nearly had to pinch himself to ensure he wasn't dreaming. "Annie?" he asked tentatively as he pushed his mop bucket up to her cubicle in the ER. He realized that this time, she was the patient. She was seated on the edge of the bed holding one arm to her protectively. She winced as she turned to look at him. His stomach dropped when he saw that her left eye was already beginning to swell shut.
"Annie, what happened?" he breathed, letting go of his mop and moving to stand beside the bed.
"Mitchell, fancy meeting you here." She laughed nervously and refused to meet his eyes. "I'm so clumsy," she answered in a shaky voice. "Fell down the steps."
Mitchell regarded her carefully. She seemed nervous and uncomfortable; something didn't sit right with him, but he didn't know Annie very well. It wasn't his place to push. Instead, he offered her reassurance. "The doctor will get you feeling better. I'll check back in on you soon. Got a puker down the hall."
Annie wrinkled her nose and in Mitchell's mind it made her look adorable. "Guess Owen's virus is making its way around, huh?" she admitted.
Mitchell noticed she stuttered over Owen's name and suspicion built in his gut. "I'll be back in just a bit," he smiled reassuringly. Annie nodded and he could feel her eyes on his back as he pushed his bucket down the way hall to the foul smelling vomit.
After he cleaned up the puke, Mitchell had been called upstairs to gather some dirty linens. It was an hour later and time for his break before he was able to return to the ER to check on Annie. He found her arm being wrapped in a plaster cast.
"Silly me managed to break my arm," she sighed when she saw him.
"I'm glad it was only your arm," he commented. "It could have been much worse."
"Yes, you're right, I suppose," she admitted, watching as the doctor finished up.
"Let me take you for a cup of coffee before you leave," Mitchell found himself blurting out.
Annie smiled. "Are you sure?"
"Please, I'd love to make your day a little bit better," he replied.
"Well, make it tea and you've got a deal," Annie grinned. "Owen can't get here to pick me up for another hour."
Mitchell wished he could take her home, but he had another four hours left on his shift. "I could call you a cab."
She shook her head. "No, Owen would be upset if I didn't let him take me home." She didn't mention it was one of the ways he felt he made up for hurting her. Besides, she didn't really want to go home right now. If she was home alone, all she would do is think, and that's the last thing she wanted.
Mitchell helped her down from the bed and studied her eye carefully. "You've got quite a shiner," he admitted. "Let me get you some ice."
It didn't take him long to produce a baggie of ice wrapped in a towel and then he led her to the cafeteria where he settled her at a table before going to purchase tea for her and coffee for himself.
Annie greeted him with a friendly smile when he returned to the table. "Thanks, Mitchell. I really appreciate this."
"Anytime, Annie," he replied, hoping she believed him. "Are you sure you are all right?"
"I'll be fine," she grimaced. "I just have to learn to be more careful." And watch my mouth around Owen, she added silently in her head. In fact, at this point, she doubted if her fiancé even loved her anymore. At first, she had only seen the sweet side of Owen. Then the shouting began. Only recently, had it escalated into physical behavior. Something had to be bothering her fiancé, but she was scared of him now. She wanted to get him help, but she didn't know how to approach the idea. Owen would be furious if she even suggested a therapist or counseling. The thought had also entered her mind that maybe it was her causing all of the trouble and she really did deserve everything Owen dished out. The idea terrified her, and she pledged to be a better fiancé to Owen from here on out.
"Annie, are you all right?"
She blinked and realized Mitchell had been speaking to her while she was wool-gathering about Owen. "Oh, I'm sorry. Just thinking about everything I have to do when I get home. I'm not very good company today, I'm afraid."
Mitchell smiled, his dark eyes glittering as he ran a hand through his messy curls. "That's okay. You've had a rough day. How does your arm feel?"
"It aches a bit," she admitted. "I'll take something for it when I get home." Annie took a sip of tea and then looked up at Mitchell. "So, how long have you worked here at the hospital?" she asked, hoping to start a conversation that didn't revolve around her and her injuries.
"About two years now," Mitchell answered. "It pays the bills."
She nodded. "I'm sure you meet some interesting people here."
"Yes, yes, I do," he responded, his eyes catching hers and holding for a bit.
Annie felt a flush warm her cheeks and she glanced down to study her tea with her good eye. "They, uh, they have good tea," she stammered, suddenly feeling as if Mitchell could see through to her soul. Had he guessed that she really hadn't fallen down the stairs?
"Coffee's a bit strong," he told her, "but I guess it keeps the doctors and nurses going on their long shifts."
She smiled. "I'm sure you're right about that."
Mitchell filled the time with idle chit-chat as Annie found herself growing anxious. She glanced at her watch. "Owen will be here soon. I'd better wait outside."
"Let me wait with you," Mitchell offered.
"NO!" Annie protested. "I mean, no thank you. I'll be fine. You need to get back to work. Thanks for the tea, Mitchell."
"You are very welcome, Annie. Be careful," he warned, his eyes skimming over her black eye and casted arm.
"I will," she smiled. "See you later." Annie offered a quick wave and then hurried down the hall toward the main entrance.
Mitchell couldn't get her off of his mind for the rest of his shift. When he arrived home, he found George and Nina finishing dinner at the kitchen table. He quickly fixed himself a plate and joined them, chewing silently.
George exchanged looks with his girlfriend. "Mitchell," he finally asked, "is something wrong?"
"What? Oh, no," Mitchell replied with a shake of his head. "Just thinking."
"Pretty serious thinking," Nina pointed out.
Mitchell stabbed at a chunk of meat with his fork and looked up at his friends. "It's a woman I met at the hospital; her name is Annie. I think her fiancé might be abusing her."
"Mitchell, you can't get involved," George began.
"What makes you think he's hurting her?" Nina asked quietly.
Mitchell sighed. "I met her last week, and her prick of a fiancé was a douche bag. He was being seen for a stomach virus. Then, today, she was the patient. She said she fell down the stairs, but somehow I just don't believe her."
"Mitchell, you don't really know her that well," Nina soothed. "Maybe she really did fall down the stairs."
"Maybe," Mitchell admitted as his appetite suddenly faded. He dumped the rest of his food in the trash and placed his plate in the sink. "I'm going to go lay down. It's been a long day."
He took the stairs two at a time and entered his room, flopping down fully clothed on his bed. Maybe Nina was right. Maybe Annie really was just clumsy. The more he tried to convince himself that the incident was something innocent like a fall, the more he became convinced that Annie was in trouble.
To Be Continued…